


The Last Time

by TheEverShipping



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Cuddling, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Sex (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Loss of Virginity, Maybe this will develop a plot?, Mutual Virginity Loss, No words, Oops What's Birth Control?, Oral Sex, Pinky Hugs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poe Is Not That Charming To Rey, Post-TLJ, Resolved Sexual Tension, Reylo - Freeform, Rose is awesome, Sleeping Together (Literally), Smut, Smut that isn't exactly fluff, Soul Bond, The Force Ships It, Vaginal Sex, soul mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-13 23:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14758448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEverShipping/pseuds/TheEverShipping
Summary: Every time they see each other, he thinks, This will be the last time.Sometimes he's wishing it. Sometimes he's fearing it. Sometimes he's mad about it. Sometimes it makes him feel lost. Sometimes it's a prayer, because maybe then twisting at the core of his being will finally stop. Maybe he'll finally have peace.But no matter how he feels about it, when it's actually happening, that awareness that eventually it could be true--eventually, it could be the last time they see each other--it quiets him. It makes him put aside what he feels in the moment and embrace the sensation of… of... gravity. The gravity of her.Rey/BenRey/KyloReylo





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nancylovesreylo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nancylovesreylo/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reckless behavior  
> Looking at a man  
> Like he was a savior
> 
> Blind leading blind  
> Everything looks darker  
> When you close your eyes  
> When you close your eyes
> 
> What were we thinking?  
> Back at the beginning  
> The beginning of the end?
> 
> \--"The Beginning of the End" by Klergy ft. Valerie Broussard

Chapter One  
The Beginning of the End

It's been weeks since she's seen him. She's felt the tug, the air sucking out of the room, she knows he's come to her, or she's come to him… But she's always refused to look. Refused to speak. And he has too. They bury their faces in pillows and hands, or turn them in any direction but toward each other.

After weeks of that, the Force connected them less often. Only once every few days, and then only once or twice a week, and then only once every few weeks. Now it's been almost two months. She doesn't know if it's because of physical distance, or if the Force has simply caught on to the fact that whatever it was trying to give them, they don’t want it. Or…or something like that.  
  
She wonders if the last time they were brought together was the last time. She doesn't like that this thought generates a weird sort of stinging pang in her heart. So she mostly doesn't think about it. Some days that's easier than others. 

Today, she has been awake for eighteen hours--harvesting crops on a planet in the unknown regions. It is hard work, but after a life-time of freeze-dried rations, it is more than worth the labor. Plus, she likes the exhaustion it brings; it makes it easier to ignore the feeling that something is missing.

She falls into bed, satisfied that the slowly rebuilding Resistance will eat well for the next several days. Her hands are blistered. Her back aches. Her neck and shoulders are pink and warm.

She pulls off her shirt and lies down, then pushes her legs toward the ceiling and pulls off her boots and pants. Once she is fully naked she collapses into the thin blankets atop her mattress--she still can't believe she gets to sleep on a mattress.

She closes her eyes and waits for sleep to take her. It doesn't.

Even though it is night, it is sweltering. She blames this for her unwelcome wakefulness.

Eventually though she can’t ignore the pulsing ache between her legs. She groans, knowing what it means. Her body, neglected for weeks, has chosen this moment to demand she honor the primal drive of the mating cycle.

She reaches between her legs, and lets her fingers settle on the soft flesh above her clit, lightly pinching just outside its hood. She begins the familiar pattern of circles, knowing how to at least hold at bay the instincts she has never followed through on. She has no use for a mate. Jedi don't mate, anyway.

Her nerves tingle but they don't swell in the way she is familiar with. She increases the pressure of her circles, tweaks the angles of her fingertips… She feels it… but it's just not…

She lets her mind slide to images. Images of big masculine hands on her body instead. Of hard flesh pressed against soft flesh. These images are vague and general at first. But enough to encourage her mind to believe that she is actually honoring the drives of her body, rather than simply placating them.

Some knot tightens deep in her center, behind her navel, and her insides feel like they're expanding, making room for the part that would fill them--a part she has never actually seen, but can picture the mechanics of.

With her other hand she grips her pillow and pulls it over her face, biting into it with her teeth. She instinctually arches her hips and back, pushing up and then pulling back, as if there was another body for her to rhythmically pull and push with.

She is close, but all of a sudden she is stuck at a plateau--like she's now overstimulated herself in her haste. She releases her clit and slides her fingers between the moist lips that lead inside of her. She puts delicate pressure on her entrance, circling the very rim. She feels the familiar ripple of heaviness, and her body desperately presses up to meet her ministrations.

The images in her mind sharpen, adding details here and there without her permission. Black cloth. Skin with scars. Full red lips.

She moves her fingers back up, back to her clit, and circles it again. In her mind her fingers become a tongue, licking and lapping and then latching on. The lips and tongue become attached to thick black hair. The hands that would be grabbing her thighs and hips and ass become callused and electric.

She should just stop now, because enough details are there, that she knows… she knows who she is imagining. But she is so close to release and… and it can't hurt anything. No one will ever know. So she keeps going.

Her back arches again, her hips thrust into her own fingers again. She moans--it starts guttural and deep, but as it makes its way from her throat to her lips the sound accidentally takes form in a tiny treacherous, frustrated squeak, “Ben.”

She slips her fingers down, one more time, drawing it out, just… just because. As she does she sees his lips trail down her, his tongue flick, his nose falling perfectly onto her clit. His dark smoldering eyes flick up at her and--

She hears something. A gasp--low and primal and definitely not from her. Definitely from across the room.

She throws her pillow aside and sits up startled. Dark eyes are indeed staring at her. But if there's any smoldering lust in them, it's dwarfed by shock.

She scrambles backward, reclaiming her hastily discarded pillow and covering her body with it.

She stares at him, because there is no point to all the things it occurs to her to say. He can't go away. Obviously she didn't feel him appear--and the reason she didn't is painfully, embarrassingly obvious as well.

She fears how long he's been there, did he hear…? She definitely cannot talk. She cannot say a word because if she does she might find out that he did hear.

She means to look away from him, but she's like a wild animal, spotted by something that might kill. If she moves at all, then he might move. Between her legs, her clit still throbs, angry at her abandonment. She ignores it and keeps staring.

His eyes morph under her gaze. Shock fades and lust eclipses it. Something more than just lust. Justification? Possession? Need? She doesn't know. She doesn't need a word for it. No matter what it is, it is dangerous.

He steps forward, very slowly. His eyes don't leave hers and hers don't leave his. His hands cautiously cross to meet each other. One set of fingers tugs the gloves free from the other.

_Tell him to stop!_ Her brain screams… But every bit of her from the eyes down doesn’t want to listen. Or feel. Because the second she lets down the barrier of shock between this moment and all the things her makes her feel… She will… she will feel too much.

By the time he is close enough to touch her, both gloves are gone and something has hooked deep behind her navel. Her clit throbs and her insides twist, and her eyes descend with him, as he sinks to his knees, at the edge of her bed.

Slowly, his hand slinks across the sheets. She feels the heat of his fingertips as they hover at the back of her ankle. Feels the brush of his palm against the side of her foot.

She thinks about all the betrayal and guilt and all the things they could have done differently. All the words she could have thought to say. All the things she wished he’d said. She looks back into his volcanic eyes and thinks about all the things that might be better said without words.

He looks at her still, full of need and want and yet he waits. She bites her bottom lip. She knows… and he knows… and he won't do it until she…

She feels her chin jerk into her neck, just a little.

His fingers wrap around her ankle fully. Still he watches her.

She should kick him away.

She doesn’t.

His other hand rises to claim her other ankle. His fingers and thumbs encircle them completely. Still he waits.

Still she doesn't kick him. Doesn't push herself back. Doesn't say a word. She just watches him. She wants to know what he’s going to say without words. And what she’s going to say back.

He blinks. When his lashes leave their temporary entanglement, they remain pointed down, his eyes half closed. Or at least they appear to be from her perspective, because their focus has changed. They now rest at the place where her legs meet her body.

With strength that excites her in a primal way, rather than terrifying her, as it should, he effortlessly pulls her all the way down the bed. Before she can even gasp, she feels his hot breath on her thighs, rustling the hair of her pubic mound. She shudders with her whole body.

His lips land, feather light against her skin. So soft that she thinks she might be imagining it. But then the wet tip of his tongue darts out, and draws a line, to the creases where her legs meets her torso. He twists his head, and mirrors his move on her other thigh.

She grips her pillow and pulls it up again, so she can bite it. So she can gasp and shudder and moan into it. Her legs squirm, and he releases her ankles. They find their way behind his shoulders, and his freed hands, swiftly claim her hips.

His full mouth presses against her slick lips and he kisses her there. Tender and sweet, like a lover would. It is a long kiss--possessive and… and apologetic.

He moves back only to press another kiss right next to the last. And another and another. He seems to be saying: _Thank you. I’m sorry. Please don’t take this back. Please._

She arches her hips back, up into him. _I… I know. I won’t. I know. I know._

His kisses grow longer and fiercer. His lips part and his tongue emerges and she gasps. She swears she can feel his lips quirk up. A smirk. Like he's confident he knows things she doesn't. Maybe he does.

Over her pillow, flattened to her chest, bitten between her teeth, she looks down at him. His thick black curls, are like a nest between her legs, far more erotic than they could ever have been in her imagination.

His eyes rise to meet hers. They churn with something deep and heavy and eternal. Like the two of them have done this a million times. Like they could do this a million times and it would always feel like the first time. Those eyes promise her everything, and ask her for nothing she's not already giving.

She lets her head fall back, surrendering to things she's not brave enough to name. _Yes._

His tongue parts her folds, just like she imagined. He suckles lightly, pulling her slick flesh between his teeth. He laps up her juices with such slow and steady confidence. He believes her. He trusts her not to take this away. He trusts her.

She thinks she’d die if she stopped him. The whole universe would just halt and dissolve into an inert junk-yard of chaos where nothing worked, nothing made sense. Finally, finally, her body is being given what it actually wants. She is discovering what she actually wants.

His tongue explores her. His fingers knead at her skin one second, then brush over it, so all she can feel is the ridges of his fingerprints the next. They press into her opening, experimenting with her reactions.

_I just want to know you._ She swears that’s what his fingers are saying.

He sighs into her center and sticks his tongue inside of her.

She keens and moans and twists into him, like she's kissing him back. Nothing else makes sense. This is the only thing. The only thing.

His fingers creep up to the top of her legs, pulling her in deeper, clutching her beneath him. His tongue runs up her, until its tip traces the line of her clitoral hood. She gasps, fast and short. Her hands abandon the pillow and weave through his hair, pulling him closer.

She makes the most pathetic noises--noises of need and longing and abandonment. Squeaks and moans. A language she didn't know she spoke, but that he seems to understand.

He changes his pressure and position. Makes his tongue flat where it had been sharp. Moves crucial millimeters at a time, discovering the reaction each little variation creates.

_I want to know everything._

_Me too_.

Her fingers loosen and tighten in his hair, until it is twisted and pulled at the roots, silently begging him to stay there--in that spot--to keep doing just what he's doing. And he does.

Over and over, his tongue brushes that spot, with just the right amount of pressure, with just the right amount of distance, before returning to the center. He doesn't speed up, or slow down. He does it perfectly. Like he can read her mind. If her mind was working, she'd consider that maybe he can. But it isn't, and she doesn't want it to be.

The pressure inside of her twists and builds, and she keeps her hands in his hair as her hips thrust her entrance into his chin, where stubble scratches against it, jolting to life pleasure receptors she didn't know she had. She bucks into it, mercilessly keeping his tongue on her clit. She is lost to sensation. She has never known need like this.

The pressure mounts and mounts. She cranes her neck up, watching him. Watching his closed eyes, his hands gripping her hips, his black curls entwined with her fingers. She watches him delicately devour her into oblivion.

Her legs shake uncontrollably. The dam bursts.

She cries out, helpless in the face of physical revelation. He has just destroyed and liberated her all at once. She might never be able to forgive him for it. She knows she won't be able to forgive him if he doesn't give her more.

She yanks his head away, just enough to remove his tongue from her clit. She will scream and kick him if he doesn't release her, because suddenly the pleasure is too much.

He obeys her, pulling away, but she doesn't let his hair go. Doesn't let him get too far.

He kisses her again, soft, innocent, chaste. It could be a kiss on the forehead. Until his tongue darts out and moves down. Licking her clean again. This time there is no doubt all these juices belong to him and him alone.

His fingers loosen on her hips, and his lips move back to her thighs. They trace kisses down them, until he is sitting back on his heels. He watches her and she pants, her whole body heaving, delirious and exhausted and somehow still craving more.

He watches until the rise and fall of her stomach slows and her eyes come into focus, meeting his. She holds his gaze, her lips open. She does not close her legs. She does not cover herself in any way.

_We can let the past die._

He slowly stands and undoes all the little fasteners of his tunic. He pulls it over his head, and lets it drop. He waits again. Watching her. Waiting for her permission. She breathes in sharply and keeps her legs open.

He pulls his under shirt off, revealing creamy skin, stretched over hard muscles, interrupted by a dozen tiny scars, and the one huge gash she gave him.

_You undo me_.

Her eyes travel up his neck to his glistening pink lips, and then back down, to the hands that tentatively rest at the edge of his pants.

She slowly rises, until she is on her knees. On her hands. Crawling forward, to close the distance between them.

Her lips align with his belly button, and she rocks back, so she is sitting on her feet, kneeling in front of him. Her hands come to hover over his stomach. Beautiful skin. She knows from the way his eyes follow her fingers--full of the same trepidation and anticipation and thrill as hers--that no one else has ever touched this skin.

She cranes her neck to look up at him. He does not smile. He is half fear and half desire--or, really, something stronger. _Can I?_

He exhales, one long shuddering breath of anticipation. _Yes_.

She lets her fingers fall on his skin. Slips them under the edge of his pants. Patiently winds around the waistband until she finds the places to tug at, to let them loose.

The fear in his eyes transforms into back into primal promise. Power and desire—or something stronger—rise in her. She yanks at his pants, edging them down over his hips, until…

Resistance. There is something his pants are trapped on and it is… it is hard and strong and she has never seen one, but she understands what shape it has to be, because she knows the shape of her that it is meant to fill.

She doesn't know what to do with it though. She doesn't know if she will hurt it. So she lets her fingers pause to trace the sharp cut lines that slope into a triangle, closer and closer the more they drop. She brushes, through his pants, over the swollen, trapped mystery beneath.

He sucks in air, his broad chest puffing and falling. Her hands release his pants, and his immediately take their place. He tugs them lower, over his hips now—down, down, down.

She leans backward, pulls her legs out from underneath her and lies back. She lets them fall loose and open. It doesn’t occur to her to close them. That is antithetical to her half of the equation, after all.

He rises back to his full height, now as naked as she is. He waits again. Letting her eyes roam over him. Letting her change her mind, and draw her knees together and break his heart.

She breathes deep and long. She is dazed and breathless still, and yet, electrically alert at the same time. She takes her eyes off of his long, thick… what? Appendage, penis, cock, member? So many words she's heard, and never understood. Now she does. But to her it seems like a key. The key to some secret she didn't know was hiding inside of her.

Propped on her elbows, she moves her eyes up his hard body, over his delicate clavicle, and the shadows under his Adam’s apple, and the beautiful contrast of sharp bones and puffy red lips until she finds his eyes again.

_Please_ , they say.

She feels aggression and lust and anger rise to dare him. She feels trust and fear battling for control. Or maybe that's what he's feeling. She can't tell who these emotions originate in, she just knows she feels them all.

She edges her legs further apart, watching him as she does, making sure he understands. _I want you to. I mean it_.

His black-lava eyes tumble. His knees land on the bed, pushing her thighs up under them. He crawls forward, scooting her backward, spreading her legs wide, so she can feel pressure in her hips, feel her spine curving and--it all feels good. Everything feels good. 

His eyes stay locked on hers even as they gloss over. Desire. Need. Possession. Fear. 

She shifts her weight to one elbow, so the other hand can run up his chest, over the scar she made. It winds over the thin, soft skin of it, onto his warm neck, and plants itself at the nape of his skull, where her fingers can twine into his perfect hair.  _It's okay. Please._

He lets his hips slowly fall, she feels the press of his cock against her nest of hair, pressing into her bones. She tries to push herself into the bed, as if the pressure will hurt him, but he presses in deeper and groans.

His face twists with struggle, the struggle to not look away from her. It is the most vulnerable thing she has ever seen. It makes her want to look away, because holding his gaze is the most vulnerable thing she's ever done. But she can't look away because he isn’t, and if she did it would feel like… like some sort of betrayal. Worse than all the other betrayals between them.

He shifts down, his cock dragging against her, until its weight suddenly drops. He slides forward again, and this time, she feels the pressure of it against the wet lips she was sure he must have licked dry. She was wrong.

The head of his cock is so smooth on the surface, but so insanely rigid and solid under his soft skin that her swollen folds and the tender flesh inside of them could never resist a thrust—a penetration.

His weight shifts so he too is only held up by one hand. His other snakes between them, brushing over her clit, re-igniting the nerves there. They respond instantly, as if they always knew they were merely taking a break. They are eager to return to life.

His fingers slip further, separating the head of his cock from the lips it rests against. She whimpers, like he's stolen something, but then his fingers part her folds and one slips inside of her.

She feels pressure and the instinct to buck up. She follows the instinct. Her whole body is begging,  _Please, please, please_.

He removes his fingers, brings his hand to his lips, and licks his whole palm, from wrist to the tip of his middle finger. She inhales sharply, watching him. Watching the light in his eyes shift as that dark primal promise burns fresh in them. 

He brushes his palm against her entrance, his saliva taking her from damp to soaked. He presses his middle finger just inside of her and swirls it around again. Testing. She shudders and bucks up into him, but his finger is not what she wants.

He pulls it out and replaces it with the head of his cock. He cants his hips forward, pressing into her slowly, carefully aligning them. The pressure returns, but unlike his fingers this part of him fits to fill her, to leave no gaps, to leave no part of her untouched.

She pants aloud, looking at him, confused and longing—why is he waiting?

He looks back at her with pain—the physical pain and ache of not finishing the act. And a deeper pain. A fear that still, at this last moment, when their bodies are perfectly aligned and so close to completing this sacred equation, that she might reject him. And the resignation that if she does, he will pull away, even though everything in him begs him not to.

Seeing this, feeling this, this internal war in his eyes, written in the and the need all over his face—she feels that thing that only he has ever made her feel. That desire to pull him closer. To never let him go. To give to him without even knowing what that means.

She knows the pain of denying this instinct to be closer--she's been doing it for months. She knows how it rips them both apart. Just this time at least… just this time, she needs to know what’s on the other side. What happens if she follows the instinct. Accepts the pull to him.

She curls her hips up, to meet his, pushing onto him. He brings his free hand up to her chest, brushing his palm lightly over her nipple, tracing the skin up her neck, and curving around it until his hand cups her skull, just as she's done to him. Then, all at once, he thrusts into her, hard and resolute.

Her mouth flies open and she gasps with pain. His lips crash onto hers. His tongue invades her mouth, tangling with hers, pushing and pulling and caressing. His kiss is as ferocious and active as his hips are still.

She lets her shoulders fall back, freeing her other elbow, and wraps it over his neck, clutching his taut back with desperation. He falls deeper into her. She whimpers into his mouth as the pain crashes through her in waves.

He just keeps kissing her, twining his tongue with hers, taking it away only long enough to bite her lips and suck at them until they hurt too. She focuses on the kisses. On the odd mix of pain and pleasure. On participating in this perfect conversation.

She bites him back, sucks his lips back, attacks his tongue with her own. Soon she is the one devouring him, trying to stretch their mouths so wide that the edges of her lips threaten to rip. She wants to swallow his tongue. She tries to lick the back of his throat. She has literally nearly starved to death more than once, but at the moment, she sure she has never been so hungry for anything, the way she is hungry to feel all of him.

His hands press into her neck and face. Everywhere he touches her fills with fire that travels like wildfire through her whole body until she can’t help but move.

At first, every bit of movement brings pain back into focus, but then he twists his lips or sucks on her tongue and the pain washes away. Now each little experiment with motion—each nudge and slip and instinctual jerk—is causing pleasure to wax and pain to wane.

She feels something swell in her throat and her eyes start to sting. _Kriff_ , she thinks as she pulls him closer, kisses him harder. _I feel too much_.

He responds to the pressure of her lips. He grows slower, more gentle. So soft. Like he would never hurt her. Like she can trust him.

Her legs stretch wider. He sinks deeper. This time it does not hurt. And now there is no extra room inside of her. He touches everywhere. She is filled in a way that makes her body want to squeeze and clench. She grinds into him, slow and deep and soft, to he same rhythm with which his tongue caresses hers.

He groans into her mouth and it is an instantly addicting sound. He holds her head and neck so tightly, so much tension in the way his long fingers grip her. She breaks their gentle kiss and presses her body up into his, stomach to stomach, ribs to ribs, chest to chest. Turns out all of her—every bit of her has nerve endings that didn’t exist until they connected to his.

His mouth lands on her neck and latches onto the spot where her jaw and neck and ear all come together. He sucks her skin in and bites and now she is groaning too.

Where she'd felt pain from the strength and size and pressure of him, now she feels desire to push him deeper into her. It seems impossible, but she tries, thrusting up into him hard and purposefully, like she could merge their bodies through sheer force of will.

A noise--a primal, guttural yop—is born in her throat. As it escapes she pulls her hips back further and thrusts up again and then pulls back. This time she feels the length of him move along her, and when the void he leaves becomes unbearable she crushes him to her again.

He thrusts again and she lets go of his shoulder to yank one leg down, as close to the mattress as she can get it. He adjusts to fill in the space instantly, half gasping, half growling against her neck. Once his weight alone is keeping her stretched and open, she brings her hand back to his hair and yanks his lips from her neck, to force them back to hers. She kisses him without hesitation, like he's always been hers to kiss.

In tandem they rock against each other. Their hips form a rhythm that is slow and sweet...until it isn’t.

It feels like all of her becomes only the parts that he is touching. She is nothing more than one half of an eternal, primal dance and she doesn’t want to be anything else.

Their paces mount. Sweat pools between them. They break their kiss because they're both breathing too hard to maintain it. His eyes find hers again, and she makes herself be brave enough to not look away.

Looking at him, it makes everything else starkly intense. It is a similar sensation to fighting for her life--nothing else exists outside of the moment, every detail requires absolute awareness. Just like fighting with him, everything synchronizes perfectly.

His thrusts grow harder, pushing deeper. Hers rise to meet them, pushing into him with equal fervor. Equal need. Equal purpose.

She feels the hair at the base of his cock, drenched in their sweat, grow heavy, and sink perfectly, to tickle her clit each time they pound into each others. 

She discovers, because of this, the way that feeling travels backwards and up, into her--like it's racing to catch the spot the head of his cock will brush inside of her a second later. A loop--there is a loop between the nerves on the outside and the nerves on the inside and he is like a musician--his strums perfectly spaced, keeping perfect time.

She thinks she can feel a throbbing in the big vein at the underside of his cock, can feel it pulsing in her, this lovely third instrument in the song he is playing. Every thrust he makes stretches her wider but makes her muscles pull him tighter.

Just like when they fight, there is no time or space for thought or doubt. There is only room for the harmony, and her obedience to it.

She is rewarded for this obedience by a tightening in her navel that is both familiar and completely new. Her eyes roll shut as she chases it, praying to it. Praying that it won't leave her before she can catch it.

His mouth is on her neck again. His gasps in her ear. She releases his hair and clutches his back over his shoulders with both hands now, pulling their chests together. She holds him as long as she can and then the coil of promised pleasure winds so tight that she has to let go so she can devote her full energy to the complete surrender of fucking into him. Of her cunt desperately trying to swallow his cock whole and never let it go. She is exploding and--

He pulls back just a little. With one hand he grabs her jaw, holding it between his thumb and fingers, just rough enough to force its angle and direction. He pulls her face back to his.

Though they are close enough that his hair brushes her forehead, he is staring into her eyes, and he does it without breaking their rhythm. He has captured her entirely; she couldn’t look away.

Amazingly, by some miracle, he pounds into her harder and faster and with a ferocity that she honestly can't match. So she surrenders completely to it. To him.

The coil synchs back that last little bit. His thick base forces her wider, more open, every part of her open. His hairs tickle her clit. The head of his cock brushes the soft spot she didn't know existed. Over and over and over.

She gasps and moans and mewls and he doesn't let her go, and she doesn't drop his gaze. The equation completes. The coil releases.

She shudders and growls and forces her eyes to stay on his as she explodes and melts and her insides literally clutch and pump him.

His eyes are bright and fierce and full of things she has never ever seen inside of anyone. They scare her, but she lets them in anyway. Part of her knew from the moment he took off that stupid helmet that this was possible. That they might find their way to this place—this scariest and most desperately vulnerable of places.

Above her his lips go slack and his lids are half closed, but he too, won't look away from her. His thrusts become wild, utterly devoid of rhythm now--just faster, faster, faster.

She comes down from her explosion and feels everything a bit differently. Her ability to focus returns, and she revels in it, because now she can watch him.

His eyes go wide, fierce, like he's in pain, and his lips tighten and whole body starts to shudder and shake like hers did seconds ago. He freezes buried deep inside her. She feels his cock pulsate, pumping, pouring something into her.

She can feel her body eagerly devour it. Milking him. Sucking him in deeper. Like it needs to keep him. Needs to make sure he cannot take back whatever he has given her.

All they are now is breath. Slick with sweat that belongs unequivocally to both of them, her stomach expands, his contracts. There is never too much pressure, and never too much space between them, because as she breathes in, he breathes out. Balance. Balance. Balance.

His eyes melt from lust into something soft. Then they shift from something soft into something afraid, and then they start to harden and he moves up, to pull back.

She keeps her grip on his neck and smiles. It is soft and honest. It's what she's really feeling. She knows that this smile... it tells him things he could hurt her with. But... but she trusts that he won't. 

His eyes flick to her lips, tracing their lines, intense, studious. When he meets her eyes again, his are electric with disbelief and then his lips part. They land on top of hers, so soft but purposeful. She gives him equal pressure back, and wonders how it's possible to feel a kiss all the way back to the corners of her eyes and into the center of her ears.

He pulls up only a little. Looking at her again. She looks back. She won't look away from him again. She's not... she's not cruel like that.  
  
His forehead gradually lowers, landing on hers. Her fingers slowly move against the nape of his neck, finding a rhythm, tugging through his hair only to tangle back up in it again. Her legs fold at the knees, her ankles land on the small of his back, hooking together comfortably.

She feels peace. It exists in a space her thoughts can’t touch. Suddenly, she is struck with this understanding that compared to the things he makes her feel—anger or betrayal or trust or absolute unconditional stupid foolish devotion—nothing else is real.

His elbows ease onto the bed and his thumbs brush the edges of her cheeks, several times, before settling beside them. He doesn't let himself collapse onto her all the way, so his chest is pressed with the just the right firmness against her nipples, and her heart has just the right amount of room to beat up and drum against him. His heart always answers.

Their eyes both close as their noses settle side by side. If he tried to detach their bodies, she wouldn't let him.

She feels like a machine that was missing parts. She feels like, as long as he stays inside of her--as long as they're forehead to forehead, nose to nose, his fingers against her face, hers against his neck, two heartbeats trading air—that she will never have to miss those parts. She will stay whole.

At some point one of her hips tilts and one of her legs straightens. His hips shift with hers. His weight tilts. One of his hands moves to close a gap between her waist and the mattress.

They roll together onto their sides. Each of them straightens a leg, while the other legs entwine, keeping their bodies together. Keeping all the missing parts in the places they always belonged.

Each of them use one arm to pillow their heads. Their elbows press together. Their hands under them rest side by side. Their littlest fingers overlap, hers on top of his. He curls his at the knuckles, squeezing hers under it. She curls hers back. It is the tiniest, most perfect hug.

The lava in his eyes is moving again. Thinking, questioning. But it is not panicked. Just serious and intense. Like he always is. The consistency is comforting. 

_What does--_

_I don’t know. I don't know anything except—_

_—This is right._

_Yes, but I don’t know what it means._

_We’ll discover it when—_

_—When we do?_

_Yes._

Her other hand crosses his. Her fingers land on his lips. His fingers sprawls reverently across her cheek, her ear, her neck, her jaw.

Their eyes stay together. Shifting from left to right. Blinking and unblinking. Observing all the little details--the nature of each other's eyelashes. The nearly invisible lines at the corners where they sew together. The way those lines fade into freckles or scars. The nature of each other's lips. There is nowhere and nothing that is off limits as long as they speak only in this ancient, sacred language.

And so they do. They continue this perfect conversation until they both wordlessly agree that the next flutter of eyelashes will be the last. They will both sleep.

And they do. Their bodies joined. Their legs entwined. They sleep, for the first time in their lives, not alone. Together. Whole.

 

  
\---

  
[Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheEverShipping)    ||   [Tumblr](https://theevershipping.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... after a whole lot of fan-girling that just tumbled out. It's be a long time since I've published anything. I think I might write more... Maybe it will even end up with a plot? Or maybe it should just be left alone? Tell me what you think! I can't actually think right now. I'm so expunged I feel helium-headed. Fanfiction is better than drugs. <3
> 
> And thank you, thank you, thank you to Ntantzen for beta-ing two drafts and for creating a perfect-feels Moodboard to accompany this work!


	2. Infatuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He brings life to my fantasies  
> Sparks a passion inside of me  
> Finds the words when I can not speak  
> In the silence, his heartbeat is music to me
> 
> I feel his finger tips, grip my hips  
> And I slip as we dip into a rare bliss  
> I begin to give in with no hesitation  
> Can't help my infatuation
> 
> \--"Infatuation" by Christina Aguilera

The next day, when Rey wakes up, Ben is gone. She is not surprised. She didn't expect him to still be there. It's really quite fortunate that he is not. 

She gets up and goes about her day as usual. She doesn't take a shower though. She does sniff her skin instinctually as she gets dressed. She refuses to analyze this as she makes her way into the mess hall.

"You look extra healthy today," Rose tells her. 

It's an odd remark. Rey hasn't ever been told something like that before. 

"Did I look unhealthy before?" she neutrally inquires. 

Rose shrugs and smiles in that way that is so easy for her and so... so not for Rey. "No. Just like you actually slept or something. You seem more relaxed."

"I--yeah, I mean, I was really exhausted after the harvest so I guess I did sleep better," Rey agrees. It's true. She did sleep better. She was exhausted from the harvest. Everything in between is… is... 

Rey chomps down on the big cooked green beans she pulled from the vine yesterday. They are crisp and juicy and the outer pod of them pops open to release soft little seeds that carry a hint of sweetness. They are without a doubt the most delicious thing she has ever tasted--

As soon as she thinks it the sensation of full red lips twisting against her own, of a taste like water but a little more metallic, pushes its way to the forefront of her consciousness. 

\--The green beans are, without a doubt, the most delicious thing she has ever swallowed. 

"Look at the smile," Poe laughs from across the table. 

It takes Rey several seconds of smiling at her green beans to realize that he's referring to her. She immediately frowns, like smiling itself is dangerous. She fixes him with a glare, that is, of course, an over-reaction. 

"I'm not making fun of you!" Poe assures her, entirely misunderstanding. "It's a cute smile. I like it when you smile. We should eat green beans every day." 

She realizes that the only correct response to this is to smile again. She does her best. But it feels sort of sour. 

She returns to her green beans. 

\--

The whole day, she buoyantly bounces through whatever tasks she ordinarily does, through whatever new ones are brought to her. When the sun sets and the moon rises, her friends sit around a fire to talk and laugh, full of energy after a relatively easy day. 

She goes to her room. 

She waits to feel the air change and shift. She waits for her reality to merge with his. At some point her eyes drift shut.

She wakes up in the morning. He wasn't there. He didn't come. 

She realizes this is not his fault. But this huge pit of despair opens up inside of her. She quickly denies it. When that doesn't work she transforms it into anger--it's not exactly anger at him… But… But…

 _What if it's because he_ \--

 _No._ She viciously tells herself. _Don't think about it._

\--

Four days later, she feels it--the tug, the pinch of the air, the shifting of the light. 

She's in the shower--a weird shower that uses water--but it feels nice. She automatically grabs for her towel and then… She stops.

She doesn't know how she feels about what happened last time. Except that thinking about it makes her stomach drop and her legs tingle and her heart beat faster. 

She keeps the shower on and her back to him. She pretends to not know he's there and goes about scrubbing soap through her hair. She takes longer than she usually would. Is more aware of her every movement than she ever has been. 

She turns the water off and reaches for her towel. She can _feel_ him watching the stretch of her arm, the twist of her hips. She suppresses the urge to curl her lips.

When she does finally turn his way, his fists are clenched and his jaw is hard. He steps forward with thunder and purpose. He _stalks_ toward her. 

Her body straightens, like an electric current has traveled from the tips of her toes straight up her spine. Thrill vibrates down her thighs. 

He stops right in front of her. His hands grip her shoulders. He bends his head towards hers and she tilts hers up and then… then he stops. 

She looks up at him, and sees fear. This warm soft sensation swirls to life in the pit of her stomach and quickly infects her heart. 

_You actually think, after last time, that I--You're so ridiculous._

She reaches out and flattens her hand against his chest. His red lips part. He sucks in air, sharp and fast. His chest rises to meet her hand. 

She leans her hips toward him, pressing her pelvis to his. His grip on her shoulders grows firm. The fear in his eyes is swallowed. 

 _I am not ridiculous._ He pushes her backward. 

She hits the wall and he dips his head and kisses her. Fierce and sharp and… She parts her lips and licks his and his tongue finds hers quickly. 

She follows his chest up to his neck, and brushes the edges of his ears with her thumbs as she sinks her fingers into his hair. All that holds her towel up now is the hard press of hips to hips. 

He kisses her harder, fast and hungry. His tongue is soft in all the right places and then twists around hers and sucks at it until she sucks at his back. Every move sends a fresh wave of tingles down her thighs. 

His hands travel down her back and grip her hips. His fingers press in hard, pulling her tighter against him. The pressure is just enough to border on painful. It is perfect. She moans into his mouth. 

She hooks one ankle around his, pushing her heel against his calf, as she brings her knee, up--up--up. 

His knee bends, so it is between her legs. His hands travel from her hips down to cup her ass. They squeeze and knead, and then she feels the muscles in his chest and arms and abs contract and he's hoisted her up like she's nothing at all. 

She eagerly wraps her knees around his torso and plants her elbows on his shoulders and twists into his mouth from her new elevation. She crushes and tangles his tongue and then licks the back of his teeth. His fingers grip her ass harder. She rocks her pelvis against his abs. 

She feels him walking, slowly. She can't be bothered to care though. She is busy pulling him closer. She gives his tongue a break to nibble and suck and lick at his lips. She bites on the bottom one and tugs until he growls. 

He lowers her onto her bed--except, when she opens her eyes, it's not her bed. It's black silk sheets and a room she's never seen and--

She pulls away and looks around, but she doesn't detangle them. 

He watches her, his eyes going passive--he will be patient. Or at least try, but his groin rubs against hers instinctually. She bucks her hips back. Like the rest of her body can't be concerned with the petty distractions she's allowing her mind to indulge in. 

She remembers that Luke saw him on Ahch-To… but the bond didn't actually bring him there. She considers letting go of him entirely to see what would happen but… but what if it broke the bond? Her core aches and throbs in misery at the very thought.

Kylo pulls his tunic off. Suddenly the room--barren, angular, and dark--loses all interest. She touches his skin and sighs in simple delight. 

He's on top of her, kissing her again. Her fingers are tugging at pants, wanting them gone. He breaks their kiss to help her. 

She props herself up on her elbows, and kisses his neck. His collarbone. His shoulder. He gasps and whimpers and almost falls into her. A whole new kind of thrill ignites in her. 

He pushes and kicks his pants off. His cock springs free and her legs open but--

She squeezes his hips between her knees and decisively twists. He rolls with her and she is on top. She rubs her cunt against him, careful to not put weight on him, just, just seeing what will happen. 

He gasps and his body goes still and she stops. _Am I hurting--_

He grabs her hips and moves them forward. _Don't stop._

Gradually the length of his cock coaxes her labia open. They are slick and she arches her back to hook the head of his cock. She thrusts onto it but… but it doesn't just slide inside. 

He grits his teeth and his eyes close. _Sorry I didn't mean--_

His eyes open and focus on hers hard. She pauses. 

He brings his hand to his mouth just like he did last time, and licks it. He brings it between their bodies and rubs his saliva over the fleshy pink head and then guides it up. She curls her hips in and lowers them again--this time slowly, cautiously. 

He is inside of her… She slides down more. One inch, two inches, three inches… She lets herself drop and gasps. He groans.

She grits her own teeth now and squeezes her eyes and bites her lips. Pain. Again. She didn't expect it. She thought it was only the first time. 

He bucks up and she drops her hands onto his chest. _Wait._

His fingers squeeze her hips, keeping her on top of him, but he doesn't move. She can tell it's hard for him. That warm fuzzy sensation rustles up in her heart again. 

She’s not _surprised_ that he cares. Last time he was so aware and—well, she wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t trust him to… to not want to hurt her like this. It’s just, she’s spent most of her life with no one caring how she felt and the first time, it was the first time, and it could have just been the first time. But if… 

His eyes on hers are pained and worried. That force of nature that shoved her into the wall has been quelled and the fear and concern is back. 

_Is there something wrong with me?_

She's pretty sure they're both thinking it. She shakes her head. _I don't think so._

It's weird, that she _likes_ that they both don't know. That neither has any previous experience to pull knowledge from. They're discovering all of this together. It's… well. She just likes it. 

She slowly bends down… her abs flush to his, her ribs on his, her breasts on his chest. He head rises to meet hers. When they come together, their kiss is soft and slow. 

She melds her lips to his, just wanting to feel that--that feeling of lips on lips. There is so much sensation but it isn't overwhelming. It travels all the way through her body and makes her feel warm and strong and weak. It makes her want to just hug him. Just feel him some more. No expectations or goals, no desires or pressures of pleasure to chase. Just to feel. 

When his lips part and his tongue pokes out she is happy to follow though. Nothing is lost. Nothing could be lost here. Only gained. 

He traces the tip of it over her upper lip, and then around her lower. She passively lets him. His act of exploration is her opportunity for discovery. 

She discovers the tickle of his soft breath. The brush of his nose against hers. The heat building and building and building in her core. 

She feels herself opening. Feels the way she sinks down—further and further. Her body swallows more of his. All of a sudden she is shaking and shuddering around him.

He gasps and grabs the back of her neck and crushes his lips to hers now. He moans into them and kisses her with such force that she feels dizzy. She pushes against his chest, backward, pushing her pelvis closer to his, pushing his cock deeper into her.

She can feel the soft flesh of his balls brush the edge of her ass-cheeks. She really likes that. She can feel herself expand. Her body making room for him. She doesn't want any empty space. She needs him to be deeper. She pushes harder. 

He moans again, low and long. Kisses harder. His legs shake and he doesn't let himself buck. 

She rocks, back and then forward. Not up and down. She doesn't want to lose a bit of the length of him against her walls. But the way the pressure shifts as she rotates her hips, pulling forward and back, that is… that is just…

"Gaaahhhh," she ekes out through gritted teeth. 

She opens her eyes and looks at him. Making sure he's okay. His ink-pool eyes swim with desire and restraint and reverence. _Please,_ they beg her. 

She bucks back. _Yes._

She shifts forward, and when she rocks back this time, he thrusts up to meet her. He doesn't pull out much. Just the tiniest bit. And the friction is fire down her thighs, liquefying her knees, tensing her calves and curling her toes. 

She wiggles and shifts and pushes up again, so she can sink harder. He meets her. Every time.

She grows faster and faster. She pushes back and forth, left and right, circling and grinding. She sits up straight for a while, pushing down, and then leans forward, pushing back. Her legs split wider and wider but her insides just grow tighter. 

As she moves she feels her emotions stir. Not just the warm fuzzy ones that want to hug and kiss him. She feels the places that got opened when he wasn’t there the next night, or the night after. She feels the vulnerability and loneliness and the anger she turned it into. She feels it bubble up from the place she shoved it down into, where she tried to bury it… it’s still there. But now, with him under her, inside of her, she finds she can use it. 

She pulls up now. And crashes back down. Curving and squeezing around him. She pulls up again. And again. And then stops and grinds hard. She uses that anger to drive her toward her own pleasure; to care less for his. She uses it to control the rhythm and friction and fervor with which their bodies meet. She demands with it. She is freed to  _fuck_ him into her own abandon with it. She likes it. 

He growls, a low deep steady rumble. His strong hands pull up at her hips and crush her back into him. He thrusts back. He likes it too.

She lands hard onto his cock, like she’s digging it up at the root, and then trying to pull it up. She doesn’t know if her speed is creating this delirium or if the delirium is creating the speed. All she knows is desperation for the stretch and sting of the friction. 

Little snarls escape his throat as he hammers up into her, pounds and pulls her onto him. Harder and harder and faster until his balls are slapping her ass. _Fall to pieces all around me._

Her hands land on either side of his head, her wrists on his shoulders and as he thrusts, she jiggles forward, then back. They create a circuit, bracing their bodies together so they rock and grind just right. 

The pressure behind her navel starts to build. Her clit sparks. The bottom of her vaginal lips throb against the big vein at the base of his cock. She's the one who increases their pace. 

The anger, acknowledged and unleashed now, transforms into whole new levels of lust.  It runs through her and purrs in satisfaction for the way it is being used. She will forever deal with her anger at him this way—deserved or not. She has a feeling he won’t ever complain.

Soon she is nothing more than a writhing, rocking, bucking, moaning mess. She fucks into him. She rides him. She can focus on absolutely nothing but chasing the feeling of the head of his cock brushing against her walls, of his pelvic bone grinding her clit, of his balls slapping her ass and then rolling back down the tender flesh of her perineum. 

_Please. please. please. please._

Her lungs start to burn and she can't stop. 

One of his hands abandons her hips and grabs her chin. He pulls her face to his. His lips latch to hers, and his hand returns to his hips to force her down. He bucks up, keeping the rhythm she'd been riding. 

He's fucking into her as she's fucking onto him and it is so perfect. So perfect. Their kiss is broken fast by their gasps. Their lips are against each other’s as they breathe in and out, slack jawed and utterly lost. 

She feels her saliva slip into his mouth and his tongue flicks out to lick it up. Their eyes meet at that moment and the cloudy lust in his makes her feel powerful. She bites his bottom lip and he groans and growls back.

His cock slides up her walls. His head hits that soft spot that makes everything from the belly button down turn to goo. His pelvis rocks against her clit. Over and over and over. Faster, faster, faster. 

That feeling is right there--so close--so close that there's no way it won't--She bucks back and forth, so fast and short, she is vibrating erratically.

" _BEN!"_ She moans against his lips as that feeling, the pressure and the tingles and the liquid heat spill over. They pulse through her. She is oblivion. 

She tries to keep moving for him because she wants to give him what he's given her but all her body can do is pulse around him and when she moves there's so much sensation it--

He holds her hips still. She tries to squirm and he holds tighter. He rolls his hips against hers, pumping up. 

She opens her eyes and pulls back just in time to watch his eyes roll back. She feels his cock throb and pulse. He spills into her, and her walls are still clenching, eager to suck up everything he gives. 

She watches his face, slack in abandon, his forehead slick with sweat, his eyes closed in ecstasy. She smiles, primally satisfied. She loves that right after she's felt at her weakest and most vulnerable, putty in his hands, he comes undone. She makes him undone. 

His hands travel up her back, and ask her to come down. She obliges. Her head settles easily on his chest, her ear just under his clavicle, the top her head nestled perfectly under his chin. 

He wraps his arms around her, his fingers curling into the sides of her ribs. He holds her tight, and firm, but with a softness she'd never have believed. 

She wiggles her fingers under his arms, and holds him at his shoulders, tucked so she fills in all the empty spaces. 

They pant in harmony. Their hearts beat together. They fit just right.

His cock continues to pulse and her cunt continues to throb, but it grows ever more gentle. They return to equilibrium together. He remains buried inside of her. She loves that feeling of him simply _being_ inside of her. Full and connected. Maybe more than all the rest. 

One of his hands trails up her back and into the nape of her neck. He settles it there. Holding her against his chest. A simple satisfied sigh escapes. She presses a little kiss to his collarbone and nuzzles into him. 

_We could have this all the time._

She doesn't know if she thinks it or if he does. Probably they both do. But he doesn't stop his little circles at the nape of her neck. Nothing changes. He's not trying to force her to change anything. So she won't try to force him. 

She closes her eyes and focuses on the little circles. On the sound of his heart. On the pulse of his cock against the pulse of her tight entrance. 

The last thing she remembers before she falls asleep on top of him is the shifting of his muscles just a little as he twists his head and places a chaste, firm kiss on top of her head. A brief pause before he returns to his circles. She has never ever ever felt content before.

\--

She feels his heart beat when she stirs as the light comes up. She is awake just long enough to watch him vanish. To feel the emptiness as his body is taken from hers. The cold where his hands cradled her is shocking. 

She burrows into her own mattress--no longer his black sheets--and she smells sweat. It's probably just hers. But it helps her fall back asleep to imagine it's his too. 

Hours later, Rose comes in and finds her naked. She apologizes and rushes back out. 

Rey wonders, _What would have happened if Rose had come in earlier? Would she have seen Ben?_

 _That's a sign you should stop,_ some hard part of her comments. 

But whatever part is in control of her hands spends the day using scrap metal and stray springs to build a door lock. 

 She's decided the key to this whole thing is to simply not think about it. It's gotten her through most of her life. To not analyze. To move forward. To hope. To wait. To not think.

 

 --  


[Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheEverShipping) || [Tumblr](https://theevershipping.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone =)
> 
> So, first, thank you again to Ntantzen for beta-ing this chapter! You all have no idea how much she makes these things more readable. Between me and auto-correct some sentences come out downright non-sensical.
> 
> Second, I changed the title to this fic because it somehow developed a mini plot and it's going to have several chapters (mostly still just smut, of course). And also, each chapter title is based on a song that I played on repeat like a hundred times while writing. 
> 
> You're comments and kudos always warm my heart! I'm so happy other people can connect to thousands of word of pure smut as much as I can. It's nice to know that I'm not alone in my perversions (which, it turns out seem to be pretty vanilla... at least so far...) You all make me feel the warm fuzzies and that desire to just write more. Thank you! <3


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